“What was that?” she asked sharply. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. I was sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their faces. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. I’ve—dreads.
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