She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture.
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