She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. “They wanted me to identify some one whom I had certainly never seen before in my life, and to tell you the truth, they were positively rude to me because I could not. You know—I worship you. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in.
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