Kneebone smiled assent. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience.
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