The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. She looked at it with a little shudder, but she made no motion to take it. “She has improved her style,” someone declared. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp.
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