Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. The door opened. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Yet there was nothing for her to do. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. "No!" she cried. She had remained patently unavailable to him. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. It’s my choice, Lucy.
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