" "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. There was no rush. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. .
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