Lucy wore it every day from then on. It slid off flimsily. So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. She let him take off her skirt as she ritualistically removed his jeans along with his boxers. He resented being regarded as irregular. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full. I knew it. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. She was gone. You’re never going to believe this, by the way.
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