Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. He’s a catch, Lucy. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. It filled her with indefinable fear. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. She removed it. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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