Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. . She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. Even Lucy’s bra and panties, the ubiquitous polyester underwire and matching cotton bikini briefs from Kmart, were gone. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment.
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