\"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. Anna raised her eyebrows at the sight of him. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Most of it had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank Gardner, appealed to her. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow.
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