"I'm sorry," she said. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. They poisoned the system with lead and exploded half the time on the other side. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. ’ ‘No, you are a gentleman,’ she agreed. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying.
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