. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt.
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