’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. The sky was dripping a wet, slow rain that had forced the city’s inhabitants into taxicabs and dingy cafeterias, the day wholly ruined for all except the insane schizophrenics and her. Lucy turned and faced the strawberry blonde behind her, gesturing rapidly with a folded origami triangle, evidently the newest form of note. The unfortunate carpenter struggled violently, but ineffectually.
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