Sublime

Lady Plackett took the binoculars. Her sight was less keen than her daughter’s but she too agreed that the girl was Ruth. She turned to Miss Somerville. ‘This is unfortunate,’ she said. ‘And quite irregular. The girl is a Jewish refugee who seems to think that she is entitled to every sort of privilege.’

Number two was person. Number three was year. Number 320 was future. The Future.

‘You must think me mad,’ she said, ‘to still love a boy I last saw ten years ago. But it doesn’t make any difference, not to me.’ ‘No,’ said Thomas. ‘Distance separates you from him, and if the units of distance were miles and not years, nobody would think it strange

mien,

The unpicking of old magic.