"Well, excuse me," she said sarcastically, with a frown at his comment. It wasn't really fair to go an accuse her of being dramatic when they had both been under the impression she would imminently be dead. "I'm not used to seeing my insides hanging out like that. And you're not, either, so don't try and pretend you would have handled it so coolly," she retorted, as she took the dress back. "I saw how pale your face was, you know."

He looked as though he'd seen a ghost — which, again, had seemed reasonable at the time as she had been apparently on the verge of becoming one. She remembered thinking he did not look like the sort who would be very good in a crisis, and aside from the melodramatic feats of strength she appeared to have been correct. Well, the feats of strength and the sewing skills.

"Alright, don't turn around," she cautioned. She could get the skirt up over her petticoat without taking the jacket off, but she'd have to expose herself again to get it up over her torso. She'd expected it to be difficult and ill-fitting, given the stitches, but she didn't have trouble getting it on. What room she'd lost by not having the corset holding her in she seemed to have made up for with the loss of the corset herself. Luckily, she wasn't the sort to lace them too tightly.

Unfortunately, the lack of the corset and the cold had given her a different sort of problem. She frowned at her chest, and awkwardly tried to rub at her breasts to warm them a little, or else to press them flat again. "I think it'll do," she said hesitantly, after a moment. They were still sort of visible, but if no one was looking too closely, she might be able to get away with it. "Can you tie the laces, in the back?"