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\" Lucy felt the familiar warmth surge upward from her crotch. “Who can tell?” she said. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. She moaned as she touched him. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. In a moment, Roding and Lucilla joined him.
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