” Lucy begged. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. “Ask me nothing. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled.
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