“Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. She is very bright. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer.
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