Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. ‘For instance, why have you reverted to your nun’s habit for this particular adventure?’ ‘That is easy. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. ’ Gerald smiled. They are all at prayer at this hour.
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