Chapter oneDelia said: “You put one needle like this, the other needle thus and place the wool just so. Then turn — oh, no!”
Like a slippery eel a needle fell from my fumbling fingers and tinkled on the marble floor of the high balcony.
“You fambly, Dray Prescot.” She reached down in a flowing motion of pure beauty and caught the needle up in her slender fingers that could wield a sword with the strength of steel. “Try again. Like this.”
“Yes, my heart,” I said — very meekly.
Once again the wool curled like a tentacle of a monster of myth and the needles went every which way. “Sink me!” I burst out. “I’ll not be beat by confounded knitting!”
“And quite right, too,” said Inch, all the seven feet length of him lounging out onto the balcony. “Anyway, I thought you could knit. Sasha taugh
