I know my son's voice too well. “I wrote it for you. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. ‘Wait a minute, though. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. ’ ‘Then you shall no longer do so. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. ’ ‘Not until you release that dagger.
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