I’ve had it, Sheila. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her.
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