She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not.
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