“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. Though Lucy refused to personally implicate her, Mr. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens.
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