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“Lord!” she said. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Unless he has killed someone. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts.
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