“I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. I knew it was only a matter of time before the boys started paying attention to you, Lucy. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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