I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. 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. I will take her away and make her serve me as my wife. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica.
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