" And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. I can’t love you. Mr. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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