Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. She’s as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and—’ with a sigh that felt wrenched out of him ‘—utterly captivating. “She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard. . I knew it.
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