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" "To be sure he is," acquiesced Blueskin. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. I don’t half disagree with you, Vee, really; only thing is, I don’t see how you’re going to pull it off. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs.
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