Lucy could see the resemblance of Martin to both of his parents as plain as day. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. Lucy arranged her hair as Michelle had taught her instead of combing it out. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it.
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