Girls Running From Houses

Projected on the cheaply-glazed windows in the anteroom, the girl glimpses the foundations of the house before this house.

If they could make a girl out of wattle and daub, she would be indistinguishable.

The house (from which fumes waft) is laid out in accordance with esoteric mathematics.

The house is an unknown quantity, and the oldest ghost is the girl's reluctant ally, and the girl is here in good faith.

In the bookshelves in the airing room, she finds a slim pamphlet. It contains an account of the fate of the original owner of the house.

She soon learns that the house has been afflicted by grave goods.

The heir is her long-lost relative, but the investigator is her secret supporter.

In the cheval glass in the airing room, she sees an aviary.

The girl, like the footman, reaches the end of her tether.

The house was in ages past a crime scene, yet never will be again.

The girl flickers.

Through the narrow windows in the room from which she has been barred, the girl tries to convince others to see inexplicable patterns in the gravel drive.

The house is surrounded on four sides by marshland.

The legendary luminous hobby horse, who reeks peculiarly of unaired rooms, is unmasked as the symptoms of poison administered to the footman by the oldest ghost.

The girl was within memory ungovernable, yet she will become selfish.

The girl is fleeing the house, just in time.

The lady of the manor is pining.

The girl was recently frog-quiet, yet she will become not like the girls before her.

Hovering lights pursue the false bride.

She arrives at the house at dawn, seeking information. She carries kindness, and a communication.

She soon learns that the house has been haunted by euphoniums.

The lady of the manor is vindictive. The mistress of the house croons.

It's all happening at once, in answer to the pattern of generations. One girl leaves the house; another arrives on the longest night of the year, seeking her family.

The house will survive because of the removal of its foundation. Its shadow will reappear when she least expects it, in the pages of a book, in a painting in a gallery. And the hunt will begin.

She is facetious.

By chance, she is sea-hearted. By training, the housekeeper is the girl's obsessive admirer.

The house, like the girl, is easy to overlook.

Those in the house demonise what blood sings in the dark of night. But they refuse to guess that — before she flees —the girl will record the history of the house in bloodless words and blast the foundations of the house.

In the conservatory, there is a peculiar perfume of ordure.

The girl cannot leave the house because she is incorrigible.