. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. Sheppard. “Will he die?” she asked. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. If you don't conquer this disgraceful propensity in time, you'll soon come to want; and then nothing can save you. She nodded. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded.
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