Clair Usher slowly gave up her secrets to Rix. It was almost one o'clock, and Rix had been reading through her diary since before eleven, when he'd excused himself from the game room after Katt had whipped his tail in chess. She'd been thoughtful and precise in her moves, and had given no indication of what she and Walen had talked about that afternoon. Boone had come in and played darts by himself, trying to stir up some trouble by inquiring as to where Rix had gone riding, but Rix had successfully staved him off. After dinner, Boone had gone to the stables to check on the horses for the night. Rix had lodged a chair and a suitcase against his door to keep Puddin' from barging in. Now Rix sat at his desk before the window, carefully turning the brittle pages. Nora's handwriting was clear, her prose direct and without flowery excess. Some of the pages were too faded to be legible, but the story of her life at Usherland was coming together in Rix's mind like a delicate watercolor.
