. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. Mr. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. "I never told anybody," she went on.
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