I'm neither an infidel nor an agnostic, so I'll content myself by saying that the hand of God is in this somewhere. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. Sheppard. In Old Palace Yard everybody ran. 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. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. “Thank you, ma’am. ‘You know?’ ‘Come, come, Melusine. He can come round there.
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