See paragraph 1. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. And, after all, a fine clear sky of bright colors is the signal to come out of hiding and rejoice and go on with life. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece.
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