Those green orbs in terror as she saw me stand up, on any other day of my life, any other moment, and especially with any other person, would have made me stop and apologize. Not that day. I wasn’t done with her.“You idiot!” She started saying, her voice breaking but still trying to keep the tough act, while I noticed her shoulders trembling, “The center of this table is glass! I could’ve…”I leaned over, grabbed her by the straps of her tank top, “You fucking, useless, spoiled brat…” I snarled between gritted teeth, feeling my face burning. The scared face she had on while I did so didn’t help me contain myself at all. Much the opposite.I initially tried to pull her up and off the table so I could scream straight to her face, as pissed off as I was, but soon as I felt the fabric of her almost inexistent garment start to rip, something came over me, and I just tore it open. It was sudden, violent, and she closed her eyes tight and squealed loudly when it happened. The ripping fabric. I had been thinking about this for some time and believed that it was arson. "From what I understand the house was closed up and nobody lived there. Being built in the early eighteen hundreds it wouldn't have gas nor, of course, electricity. I doubt that it was caused by any natural phenomenon. Perhaps a vagrant had got in and he set the fire."Bella seemed of the same opinion although she had another theory. "Arabella in her diary says that Dashwood's wife, Adelaide hated the house. You know what they say about a woman scorned. I wouldn't be surprised if she had the place torched as a sort of expiation for all the hurt she suffered when she lived there." I know she and Robert were living with her father in Braintree at the time. Perhaps it was Robert who did it. After all he didn't have much reason to like the place."Bella looked surprised. "Arabella didn't know that. I mean she never mentioned where Adelaide had gone. Robert was her illegitimate son wasn't he?" Yes. My great.
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