“What I mean is. ” Annabel shook her head. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. It did not take a mind reader to glean that she had suddenly gained the boy’s obsessive attention. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. She did not see Sebastian turn towards the boy and his family, but every hair on the back of her neck stood up rigidly. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered.
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