‘Was she planning to make away with all this stuff?’ ‘What’s this?’ Hilary pounced on a black item slung on the floor by the dresser. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. Melusine’s eyes shifted. He did not have to. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book.
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