Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. ‘Jacques?’ she called. " "Puppy-love. Lucy knocked again.
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