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Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. Surely Capes was different. This also struck her as odd. A spacious suite of rooms down the hall John described as “my parents love den” with a grimace as Lucy smiled. From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. He nodded silently, too full for words. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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