He had no choice — he had to see. Only had to kill one roommate to do it, too, Paul thought, and donkeyed his shrill, frightened laugh.
He could not find the words. He had been dozing peacefully enough in front of his own fire with a book in his lap when Colter came, waking him up. He could hear the steady, keen whine of the wind outside, and he had a sudden image of her picking him up and throwing him over her solid shoulder, where he would lie like a burlap sack slung over a stone wall, and taking him outside, and heaving him into a snowdrift. But Geoffrey knew how deceptive that sleepiness was, had seen what happened to the Baroness, and only thanked God that Ian had been spared that.
It gave off the oddly interrogative squeak that told him it was the closet where she kept her outdoors stuff. The pattern was inescapable.
"She stared at him, that furious black gaze, and must have seen the truth in his face, because after a moment she slung him contemptuously back in the chair. This is what its like after the end, he thought, opening the door and tottering into the apartment.