In her third-floor office at the Connor’s Fishers Island residence, Lucy rapidly tapped the keys of her IBM Selectric. A machine-gun ratta-tat-tat-tat that was so pleasant and familiar and comforting. That percussive, mechanical, and yet somehow musical sound meant she was working. That she still had her wits about her, could easily form coherent sentences and string them together in one marvelous, weighty, and pregnant paragraph after another.
Oh, thank God Vittoria finally has come! What a darling! What a precious, gentle, kind, open, and innocent little creature, like a doe in the forest! Dappled in sunlight, she takes one tentative and gentle step at a time.
And so generous!
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