A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. “Remember that the man will probably die. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively.
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