I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. I bent over him. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. “Yes, I believe he is. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. I will lay them all at your feet. At least the sun would not be as bright, which was a welcome reprieve from the mercilessly bright early summer days which had invigorated every man, woman, and child in the suburbs but were wearing Lucy down into acute fatigue, along with her hunger.
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