And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine.
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