. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. I can't invent; the thing won't come. I do swear. Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around.
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