Montressor’s guests. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Sometimes when adrenaline rushes through a body. I shall count it a privilege. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass. I struck him across the mouth, and across the eyes. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. Perhaps what I need is something to bite in.
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