“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty.
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