The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. Of this I'm certain, however, she was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. Like the flaws of an old marble. For she and this old lady became at once friends. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. When I am angry, I can get very mean.
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