“Bloody hell!” His eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head.
The sheets were in shreds. Spatters of blood and bits of fur speckled the floor. Shattered glass from the windowpanes glistened on the carpet like shards of diamonds.
Dinah had followed her husband in and recoiled at the sight. “Oh, dear Lord! What happened?”
Roddy had pulled himself together by this time. “It must have been a rabid dog,” he murmured, fingering the soft, black fur. He shivered.
I glared at him and hissed in his ear, “Thoughts of a rabid dog will terrify a woman with small children in the house.” Then I said, “Of course it wasn’t a dog, Roddy. You must have been dreaming. It was a…a…” All right, Smythe, think! What must it have been? “A gypsy!”
Roddy gave me an exasperated look. “Very nice, Thomas. Thatwon’t disturb Dinah in the least.”