She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,—mind that. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. Oh, it was very bad. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast.
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