Chapter Twelve
Konrad had not expected to feel regret, upon driving away from the beleaguered house at Divoro. He had felt nothing but dread at the prospect of returning to it. Why, then, should he deplore the fire that tore through its ancient halls, and would, soon enough, reduce it to naught but a blackened shell?
Perhaps it was the tragedy of it. It had been a place of haunting, if slightly mad, beauty, a unique structure whose potential had been corrupted and destroyed. The house itself could not help its inhabitants.
The same could be said for some of its scions. Had Denis Druganin been born elsewhere, to another family, would even he have been so much a monster? Perhaps, perhaps not. Evil so often begat still more depravity.
Or was it merely that it destroyed whatever least rese
