’ She sniffed and swallowed. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. Brendon was silent. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise.
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