The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu. The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. “The life of a private secretary is positively one of slavery. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by the drain-pipe. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. CHAPTER XIII. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station.
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