Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. ” “God, Lucy, you’re always so serious! I was only joking!” She pulled her underwear on and fiddled with the legs of her tight jeans. “Alone, dear?” “Yes, aunt. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. “My dear Anna,” he answered. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears.
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