Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. “My charm of manner, I suppose. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. \" Cathy poured her a glass. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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