But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. ’ Gerald frowned. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Probably something he had eaten. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work.
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