Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. What you did is called manslaughter, and at the worst there is only a very slight penalty, nothing to be frightened about in the least. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. And think things out. “What’s that for?” He said. “My dad is into this stuff. She cocked her head. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better.
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