On the contrary, I am altogether satisfied. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. Lucy studied Katy for the rest of the game. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. ‘Difficult, I grant you. But you belong to me—and I want you. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. ‘I don’t know that I dare.
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