“You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Softly she rose to her feet. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. She wanted to live. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. Fear nothing. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. “Is this hansom for me?” she said.
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