Chapter 8“Now tell me,” Lucy said, settling back into the settee with her cup of tea and taking an ambrosial mouthful, “How are you? Really?”
Sylvia looked a little worn around the edges, she thought. More so than Lucy had expected when she’d accepted her standing invitation to visit. She was a tall woman, thin, with a classically handsome face and the most expressive brown eyes Lucy had ever seen. She’d never carried any excess weight and had always tended to drop it off when she was under pressure. Lucy had expected her to look less strained than she currently did. They had both been back from France for more than six months now and the constant stresses they had been living under, especially in those last dreadful months before the Armistice when they were all so tired, patching tired
