On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “You are one of those who must know all about it. The girl nodded sagely. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her.
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