The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. There were two of them. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening.
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