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She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. Aided by an individual, who was acquainted with a secret outlet from the tenement, Darrell escaped. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. This woman knows me—’ throwing the remark at Lucilla ‘—and that I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. ’ Gerald raised his brows. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon.
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