’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. He whispered in her ear. I just never had anything else fun to do. The strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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