Sublime

A song like the echo caught in a seashell one of his tutors had brought him from his coastal travels, or the shimmer of a rainbow after a summer rain, tangled between the hills of the valley where he grew up.

the custard pudding she believed lurked under her mother’s heavy dress,

Both children had grown up in the rigging of the Sedley ships; both of them had spent their early years—those before their father had been offered a title—at their father’s heels, learning the business of shipping. Both had learned to heft a sail. To tie a knot. But only one of them had learned well. Unfortunately, that one was the girl.

‘She was the wife of John Bell, who owned Lowlands until his death in 1889, and we’ve never known anything more about her: it’s as if she’s been cut out of time. We have records of their marriage, but not of her death; we have no portraits of her anywhere, and when the house and contents were sold none of her possessions were listed in the inventor

"Saga,"

pertness;

“You have a lovely daughter, madam. I will overlook her lack of appreciation for my business lecture.” “That is very kind of you, sir,” Annabelle replied, her eyes dancing.

it signals a name, something given by a mother or father, something weightless yet carried forever, like a heartbeat.