“I am staying at the Savoy. Jackson?" said Wood, significantly. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. He had been baptized there. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. ’ ‘Aye, miss,’ Kimble agreed, taking the garments, ‘but where will I find you?’ ‘I do not know.
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