” “God, Lucy, you’re always so serious! I was only joking!” She pulled her underwear on and fiddled with the legs of her tight jeans. I hope I may never come near her. ’ ‘Poor little devil,’ said Gerald, genuinely sorry for her. “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. ‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free.
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