Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. This way, Sir Rowland. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull.
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