“I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. ’ ‘So I infer. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. 112 Sheila needed an early riser: a girl around the house to help cook and clean and walk the dog. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace.
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