He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu.
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