It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. It is known that I am Melusine Charvill, which is also my right. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. She fidgeted and looked away. I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door. She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet. “They mould one insensibly. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded.
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