For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. We always go out to dinner on holidays. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. She rose and attacked Lucy, kicking her with the grafted leg that was too big for her body. Suddenly she had become afraid.
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