Ireton, you are in league with him. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. “Hi. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Buck up. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Wily little devil she is. Let me only wear your livery.
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