“He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. ToC Thames Darrell's fears were not, however, groundless. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. She was dressed in a little white frock, with a very long body, and very short sleeves, which looked (from a certain fullness about the hips,) as if it was intended to be worn with a hoop.
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