” She rose up. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. Then she slowly straightened, releasing him. The vast area in front of Westminster Hall was thronged with people, and it was only by a vigorous application of their staves that the constables could force a passage for the vehicle. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. It’s true. The situation bothered him considerably.
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