We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly. She could tell that he was furious in that instant. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away.
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