She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. Never did I need a rescue so much. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened.
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