Status Updates From Bride Of Tancred

So many inaccuracies in the description of the countryside I doubt I'll finish it.

Dreary and predictable.

Än så länge känns boken bara som en sämre variant av en korsning av ”Wuthering Heights” och ”Jane Eyre”.

Clouds of thick rush eddied slowly out into the room and the thin whine of the breeze hovered in forgotten corners. I shuddered. "You don't like the wind, do you?" I didn't answer. "She didn't like it either," he said softly. "She hated it, but it got her in the end." His hand closed tightly over my wrist.

Oo I really love this, more than Jane Eyre.

There was no answering chime from inside. I took hold of the rope in both hands and tugged as hard as I could. The rope came down so suddenly, curling in a snake-like coil about me, that I screamed-and immediately hushed myself for having done so. The scream was whipped away into the night wind and a fresh assault of the rushing air caught me off balance and threw me sharply against the iron handle of the door.

It was not the wind, nor the east wing, nor the portrait of Richard Tancredo, but all these things were part of it. They twisted and whirled round a vortex of unknown horror, an oozing secret that by mutual unspoken agreement was kept carefully covered under a blanket of silence.