95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. "O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone.
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