But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again. Please to let me go there. We'll have him yet. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. As if we didn’t know! The practical trouble is our ages.
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