In a moment they were in the street outside. Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. ‘I lived with the Valades for some years. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. Her heart thudded. So long.
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