ice in her voice.

"Your father . . . our father will explain," I said.

She flicked me another of her scornful glances before

throwing her hair back.

"I doubt anyone can explain it, but I can't listen

now anyway. I'm exhausted. I must sleep and I'm certainly not in the mood to hear about you right now." She started to turn but paused to look me over from foot to head. "Where did you get these clothes? Is everything you have handmade?" she asked

contemptuously.

"Not everything. I didn't bring much with me

anyway," said.

"Thank goodness for that." She yawned. "I've

got to get some sleep. Beau's coming by late in the

afternoon for tea. We like reviewing the night before,

tearing everyone to shreds. If you're still here, you can

sit and listen and learn."

"Of course I'll still be here," I said. "This is my

home now, too."

"Please. I'm getting a headache," she said,

pinching her temples with her thumb and forefinger.

She turned and held her arm out toward me, her palm

up. "No more. Young Creole women have to replenish

themselves. We're more . . . feminine, dainty, like

flowers that need the kiss of soft rain and the touch of

warm sunlight. That's what Beau says." She stopped

smiling at her own words and glared at me. "Don't

you put on lipstick before you meet people?" "No. I don't own any lipstick," I said.

"And Beau thinks we're twins."

Unable to hold back, I flared. "We are!" "In your dreams maybe," she countered, and

then sauntered to her bedroom. After she entered and

closed her door, I went downstairs, pausing to admire

her headdress and cloak. Why did she leave it here?

Tags: V.C. Andrews Landry Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net