Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. ’ ‘Then why,’ demanded Melusine, ‘did you do it?’ Gerald closed his eyes.
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