” She distantly remembered moments in childhood spent in phobic trance, when her father had told her God was punishing sinners in Hell. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. ” Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed.
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