Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. ” The corners of her mouth rose in a weak smile and she gave him a wink. He would know her address to-morrow. This man and he were alike, and about the same age.
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