Monroe would lock the whole group of us in the basement, every day. "How!" exclaimed Sheppard. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. There it was—to be borrowed. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead.
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