Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. This is my friend, Mr.
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