It was still the husky but childish laugh that I had first heard so long ago. Of all the changes and darkenings in Nina, her laugh has been least affected. "You know how he likes to show off his place in Beverly Hills. I knew how much Nina loathed this city, this house. We should hold all of our reunions here." "I can't tell you how much I look forward to coming back to Charleston. Nor did I like the sense of darkness closing in against all those panes of glass. The sunlight made it a warm, cozy place in the daytime, but now that winter had come the room was too chilly to use at night.
Green plants still caught the morning light. This part of the house had once been the conservatory, but now I used it as my sewing room. I know the rules." Nina stood and began walking around the room, idly touching the furnishings or exclaiming softly over a ceramic statuette or piece of needlepoint. Nina Drayton's smile was as radiant as ever, but her pale blue eyes showed no hint of warmth. She had her scrapbook laid out on my mahogany coffee table, newspaper clippings neatly arranged in chronological order, the bald statements of death recording all of her Feedings. Nina was going to take credit for the death of that Beatle, John.
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