Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Know that, don’t you?’ ‘Of course I know it,’ Lucy told him, and Melusine read the whisper in her mouth of those precious words, ‘I love you. ’ So saying, he pulled her forward, slipping her arms about his back. ‘Laisse-moi. WE don’t think they’re right, but they don’t think we are. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested.
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