His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. Montressor’s guests were. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. Annabel shook her head. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself. No girl with a face like that…. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye.
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