“Want one?” Michelle deadpanned. Not a word passed between them. She snatched about in her mind. Only you good ones— shirk. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her. Or appeared to do so. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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