’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. He was painfully in earnest, too. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud.
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