” He groaned. She held out both her hands. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian.
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