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“Listen, Granule, about what daddy said. Is it true?”
“Mummy said he was joking.”
“I think it’s true.”
“Really?”
“I think so.”
“D’you mean mummy’s a liar?”
Mandolyn was thoughtful. Granule’s eyes were fixed on her face. He loved her face. It was so… he didn’t know the word… it kept changing… unlike his own, which was always the same. Mandolyn smiling and Mandolyn grave were almost two different people; Mandolyn laughing was a third; Mandolyn perplexed a fourth, and so on. When she was deep in thought, two tiny wrinkles appeared on her forehead, making her look, to Granule, almost old, though otherwise, partly because she was so small, partly because of what Granule thought of as her beauty, she seemed younger than her nine years and could easily pass for seven or even six.
“Let’s run away,” Granule suddenly blurted out.
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