Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. “He can’t be more than thirty. ‘Gérard—’ ‘What now?’ he asked, rife with suspicion. The door opened. And this was an adventure of which he had dreamed from boyhood: aboard a windjammer on the South Seas. What brings you here?” “I’m here to see my uncle. ’ Madame ventured a glance up at his face, and fluttered her lashes. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL.
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