His voice now had lost its ironies. "Thumping; but that's only excitement. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. We have a very nice set of young people here too just at present, and you would soon make some friends. ‘—and I love your raven hair, and your bright blue eyes, and your very kissable lips—’ suiting the action to the words ‘—and I love the crazy way you speak English, and the way you curse at me. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically. I believe I’m in love. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger.
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