She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. ’ ‘Woof!’ The sergeant appeared nonplussed, and Melusine pressed her advantage. "You are," replied Kneebone. ‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. 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.
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