She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her. The streets were full of colour. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption—a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. She held out her hand frankly.
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