When the man on the street thumping the thick black book told Lucy she was going to hell, no one could console her. She moaned and wailed and clung to her mother's coat with white knuckles. Her father tried to explain that the man was crazy, like old Aunt Gertrude, and that nothing he said mattered, but Lucy had seen the man's eyes. They weren't cloudy or crossed like her great aunt's. They were clear, more clear than anyone else's on this earth. They were like the eyes of a cat who had lived forever and seen everything and knew all the truths there were to know.
No comments:
Post a Comment