By this time I was in such a solution of grief that I would soon have had to be sopped up with a sponge if Pet hadn't run in all bubbling over. Happiness has a habit of not even acknowledging the presence of grief, and Pet didn't seem to see our red noses, crushed draperies and generally damp atmosphere.,
"Good old Norn!" she cried, with a mighty hug. "I told you that you were the real stuff! Ju and I are mighty proud of our big sister, aren't we, Ju?",
Griffin nodded. "Tabby March, you know. The young woman who paints pussies. Used to go here three years ago, before she'd arrived. She was a wild one, I can tell you.".
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