“Have you turned him yet?” Michelle whispered hotly, trying not to raise the volume of her voice. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. ‘That is a very English name. Never mind.
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