She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. “Mere sensuality. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly.
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