EPOCH THE FIRST, 1703. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy. She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. Better get back now! You be careful. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. I have given up painting. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Although Martha did not know it, she had her pistol and her daggers, and her knife. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. Too busy. .
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