They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman.
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