I have worn it for weeks and weeks. One cannot trust any man at all. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. She rang again with the same result.
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