There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. “Look round the table,” she said. 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. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. ” “Of course I am. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger.
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