My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. ” “To bad rubbish. . . You’re a piss-poor liar, John. It is so ridiculous. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. ’ ‘Oui, mais—’ ‘You are, without exception, the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous, the most shameless, immoral, devious—’ ‘Pardon me, sir,’ burst in Mrs Ibstock suddenly, her tone belligerent, bringing the captain’s tirade to an abrupt halt as he turned to glare at her. “Young lady! Are you sure you’re of legal age to be smoking those cigarettes?” “No, I’m not of legal age.
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