"Now stand before me, Poll. “I’m just in time to say good-bye before I go, father. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. Loving was better than that. He leaned forward to better drink her in. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. " "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. ‘Would you have me face my maker with that on my conscience? If I’d died, there’d have been no one to tell you, for your father would not have done.
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