The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. ‘I do not know him. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. ‘I know you, Gerald.
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