He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert.
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