I'm beginning to think that I only truly love 3 or 4 of Arthur's books, and the residual glow has wrapped around the others in hindsight. This story of Romilly, granddaughter of Romilly known as Millie, can only be described as slight. There's just not a lot of flesh for these oh so spooky bones. The flashbacks are powerful but I found the evil curiously unexplored. Perhaps that gives it some power- the reader can fill out the ugliness, I suppose, but for me, reading it at this terrible remove from adolescence, I simply couldn't be bothered to do so. I'm not trying to damn this book with faint praise- not at all. It's simply slighter than I remembered, less weighty. It's still a ripping good yarn.