‘Me, I do not need the help of anyone. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life.
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