Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. You won’t settle and I’m going mad. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. You intrigue me.
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