Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. She auditioned and got a summer job teaching violin at the Mozart summer music camp for children, catching the luckiest of breaks. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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