Lying in a hospital bed, Anne stroking her head… only a fragment, like a brief dream. There is no one left. Charlotte. *** Charlotte was running away.
The wound reopened in a jagged flower of fire, agonizing. She always had mixed feelings about staying here—she loved the house and grounds, disliked her aunt—but this time she had welcomed the chance. What are you getting at? You know, I am getting sick of being the one who has to pay and pay for your stupidity. As she ate, memories of the cellar and tunnel sleeted across her mind, so vivid and distorted that she wondered if the gift of her blood had unhinged her after all.
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