‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said.
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