"The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean.
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