She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed.
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