It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. ” She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ’ Before she could object, Melusine found herself hustled back into the house and dragged willy-nilly towards the library door, where Jack called softly. He looked at her reproachfully.
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