Martha had been careful to make no mention of Melusine, and did not reply to Mrs Ibstock’s enquiry about the fate of the little babe. She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. She still kicked herself for it.
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