How could I look Lucy in the face?"
Her eyes grew humid. My heart went out to her.
"I understand. You are right," I yielded
The scene repeated itself not many days after. It occurred again
and again at almost regular intervals. She fought bravely
Many months passed, and still she was able "to look Lucy in the
face."
At first, for a period of six or seven weeks, my moral conduct
outside the house was immaculate. Then I renewed my excursions
to certain streets. I made rather frequent calls at the apartment of a
handsome Hungarian woman who called herself Cleo. Once, in a
frenzy, I tried to imagine that she was Dora, and then I
experienced qualms of abject compunction and self-loathing
Sometimes Lucy would arouse my jealous rancor, as a living
barrier between her mother and myself. But she was really dear to
me. I revered Dora for her fortitude, and Lucy appealed to me as
the embodiment of her mother's saintliness
I would watch Lucy. She was an interesting study. Her manner of
speaking, her giggle, her childish little affectations seemed to
grow more American every day.
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