An ancient smile lay on his lips. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done. You refuse me your confidence. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. What could I do?’ ‘Anything but to bring him to me,’ Melusine threw at him. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger.
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