“In the bathroom. ” As Lucy got up to fetch Michelle a box of tissue, her mind spun wildly. 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. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her.
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