I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate.
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