"Yes. It loves to sit on your knee. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. He did not speak for a moment. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea.
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