. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. The order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. The deafening report froze time.
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