“I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. Wood. 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. Andrews novels, her collection of old teddy bears, Paddington 2 minus his yellow hat, a yellowing white bear won in a carnival with one eye missing. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. She was mentally transported for an instant to the old castle in Herculis.
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