It  e; it axi driver and to take me so far out of to t of expression, must , for  me in. “e’ll give it a go,” he warned gruffly.

    e drove out of toinued to fall, piling up meticulously, flake by flake, on every incop, every bouger t village, t farme landscape, tinguis times from t land all about, and I so my seat, expecting at any moment t turn back. Only my clear directions reassured   on a road. I got out myself to open t gate, t t, tes of the house.

    ‘I ,“ I said.

    ‘Me? I’ll be all righer shrug.

    As I expected, tes  ing to tended to be looking for my keys in my bag ance away did I grab e and clamber over.

    tc locked. I pulled off my boots, s and  up. I y kitco Emmeline’s quarters, ions, full of questions, I stoked my rage; it y years in t ruins of Angelfield’s library. For all my inorming, my approac; t drank in tread. I did not knock but pus straigains ill closed. At Emmeline’s bedside Miss inter ting quietly. Startled by my entrance, sared at me, an extraordinary shimmer in her eyes.

    “Bones!” I   Angelfield!” I ing on tentero emerge from  ure did not matter. S, and I .

    Except t trying to distract me from my scrutiny.

    ‘Bones?“ said Miss inter. Se and t enougo drown all my fury. ”Oh,“ she said.

    O ricion a single syllable can contain. Fear. despair. Sorroion. Relief, of a dark, unconsoling kind. And grief, deep and ancient.

    And traction in tly in my mind t t ? Some-ting extraneous to my drama of t preceded