Chapter 11

"Your eye!" It was nearly a shriek this time. "It's what they do, you know, they go for the eyes. Oh, Lucas, my poor b--"

"It wasn't Cat!" It had come to this--Lucas was defending a cushion with legs who had basically come with the carriage house because she wouldn't leave when he'd moved in and only "allowed" him to share "her" space because he was sometimes useful to her. "It was a bush, Mother, a simple thorny bush, and it wasn't at home, it was at the Duck, and I got a scratch--on my cheek, not my eye--because I was being clumsy and couldn't get my sleeve unstuck from some prickers when I was--"