” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. ’ Gerald noted the mixture of respect and apprehension in the glance he received from the boy. ‘She’s still bleeding. . I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. Daughters were not like sons. I suppose it is the mirrors and decorations. It’s well hidden, miss.
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