A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. ‘You know pretty much everything you need to know. . What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance.
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