” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me. Rats and things crawling all over. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night.
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