"Beggin' yer pardon, Missus. The crowd's got me in a bit of a state. Not used to so many people so close to me."
Fox had her own cup of punch, a simple black mask over the upper half of her face. She'd bought a new coat for the occasion, finding herself unable to wear the old one after the constable had returned it to her. It had felt like handling a death shroud, no matter how superstitious it had made her feel, and so she'd replaced it.
And strangely, she'd felt at ease after the questioning with the police, for if even they could not tell she wasn't male, who could? "Did I jostle you overly much?"