On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. Nobody who cared. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. A quarter of an hour passed. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. "Inequality of rank can be no bar to our union," continued Kneebone. "You'll feel better after it. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright.
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