There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. 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. Instead, her husband was probably wise. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. “Mike’s an idiot and we both know it, Lucy! I can’t stand him!” “Did you two have a fight? Are you breaking up?” Lucy said worriedly. “Mid-thirties. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble.
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