Her father was holding her waist, smiling. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. But it was her proof. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime. It does not matter to him either way.
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