’ 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. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. She covered herself with her arms. “Aren’t we all just odds and ends of humanity —the left-overs, you know.
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