Lucy inhaled deeply. 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. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. " IV. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. She went to her own table and sat down. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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