Sixteen years of boyhood that could never begotten back. I cried in almost a wail of anguish as the boy I was, wasnow dead. Like Robin my sister, ha... been the boy and had suddenly died inmy arms. Abigail held me as best as she could, but my pain broke her. Asmuch as she wanted to hold me and comfort me, it had been too soon sinceher own change to be able to handle the emotional roller coaster we werenow sharing. I didn't hear the pounding on the door, but it was an escapethat Abigail took. "Since you haven't had occasion to introduce yourself, kindly permit me to initiate the gallantries."She had walked straight over to me in the lobby afterwards and taken the initiative. A bold and decisive woman, that one."Behold, I am Mercy de L'Espoir. My deceased husband, bless his soul, was a distant relation to the fashionable, but somewhat overrated poet, Jean-Jacques de L'Espoire. While I have neither talent nor inclination in that direction, I certainly appreciate the fine arts and am. More

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