“Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. And you’d better have her fetch in some food for the missie, an’ all. “Your mother was a Gypsy. As for me, if they don’t at least help a little with college I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. That’s my advice. Her back arched slightly in response. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. ’ The girl glanced up the road and turned back, annoyance in her face.
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