The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. G. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now.
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