253 < 32 > LUCY GOES TO DINNER Mike and Lucy trudged over to the Vorsack’s house. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple.
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