Chapter Seventeen - Cordelia
Kathy woke up at home, naked. Her clothes were in a pile beside the bed. Someone had driven her home in her own car. She thought it might have been Forbes. Whoever it was had helped her to the door, then left in another car that had followed. She didn’t remember going to bed. It was almost noon.
She must have been dreaming of the past because she awakened remembering how, as a little girl, she was fascinated by the books her uncle kept on the high shelves of his study. When he was out of the house, she’d stand on a chair and take them down. They were old books, large and heavy. In some the pages were yellowing and cracked. In them were paintings, and ink drawings, and descriptions of martyrs, of long lines of flagellants whipping themselves, their eyes gleami
