Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. I'm heading for bed.
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