If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. 73 < 10 > AT HOME, 1982 Lucy woke up the next morning with Shari’s slow sonorous breathing only a few feet away. I married—I married a woman whom I still think one of the most beautiful persons in the world. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. Anyhow, they didn’t run about so much. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. I went with him to what I supposed to be the British Embassy, and went through a ceremony which I understood to be the usual form of the marriage one used there. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it.
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