‘She’s gone. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. That is very certain. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her.
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