“You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. She indicated the captain who had retired behind the sofa. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. It’s well hidden, miss. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Don’t look so frightened. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man.
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