They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone. Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form.
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