Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. A common rage flushed their faces. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. ” He adjusted his glasses on his nose.
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