She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. Oh the back of her arm she found the faintest down of hair in the world. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors.
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