Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. He carried a small bag. But I'm resolved to see Lady Trafford.
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