” She found herself trying to remember all the old tunes her mother had taught her, as they were bright as little stars. Lucy did not move, but instead stared straight forward, her eyes focused on the desk where the presiding teacher on duty was supposed to be. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. ’ But I made sure it was you.
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