She knew the truth of it all right. "I can escape to France. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. “Lucy, that is so sad. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. I know less about this affair perhaps than you suppose. Your purpose is done. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella.
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