Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. She comprehends what we're about. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies.
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