E. Prison was beastly. ’ ‘Yes, a pretty theory, Lucy,’ Gerald said evenly, ‘but for one thing. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. " "The pianist?" "Yes. " Trenchard took up a pen. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. ’ Melusine’s heart twisted.
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