She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Annabel had been here then. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia.
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