Miss Annabel is her sister. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly.
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