Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. A father is in debt, we'll say. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy. "You have lived over here?"—astonished.
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