‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. ” “Why? What did Missy ever do to piss her off? What did I do?” Lucy asked, growing defensive. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime.
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