“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. She had decided that she would begin with her pearl necklace. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. ’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing. .
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