Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. At once. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. I'll dispose of the brat. ’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room.
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