He laid her on their old bed and kissed her from head to toe. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ‘Well, sir, if I’ve to choose betwixt him and you, I’ll take you, no question.
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