Lucy knocked again. She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look. “Call me Annabel. Deep silences came between them. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. The oaken beam, nine inches in thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight. I am a man—of a sort of experience. “John, we should be getting out of here. Always.
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