’ A reluctant laugh escaped him. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. Mom, this is Lucy Albert from school.
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