\" Lucy lied. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. She was a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming and companionable—but with a difference—a great difference. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. Be a good wife to him. \" Cathy poured her a glass. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods.
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