"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. hopelessly, and it made me desperate. That is, until I investigated Iovelli-Alberti in the Fourteenth Century!” They reached a part of the subdivision dubbed “The Treehouse”, a popular hangout for edgy teens who smoked joints in its foundation pits.
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