” “I promise,” Annabel declared. The small predator subconsciously acknowledged the larger one. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. Michelle moaned and Lucy, unable to help herself, stroked her hair. ’ ‘Eh?’ Almost Melusine betrayed herself at his startled look. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks.
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