” He threw the stone protecting the crypt to one side. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. \"Lucy, wait up. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them.
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