“I have my methods. She gloried in it: he needed her. ” Marina would drawl, Lucy invoking her mother’s face as the image of the beautiful but cruel princess Anoush. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. “What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze.
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