Whenever ecstasy— any kind of ecstasy—filled her heart to bursting, these physical expressions eased the pressure. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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