‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. “Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler. Humph. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child.
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