The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. Then he threw the letter at me. It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. It was fastened inside. “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. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. Mr. ‘I will not, if you will assure me that an imbecile is a better marriage prospect than a starving pig. And still you interest yourself in my affairs.
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