She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. She shook her head, almost breaking a smile. "Did you write it?" "No. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Surely she could ignore him. Not content with this, the assailants set fire to the house in half-a-dozen other places; and the progress of the flames was rapid and destructive. Yet here you are, and at precisely the right moment, too. Quite ordinary.
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