“Cecily,” he said again. His voice held wonderment, and horror. “Who on earth is Cecily?” Tessa scrambled into a standing position, brushing grass and thistles from her dress. “Will—” Jem was already beside Will, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Will, you must speak to us. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Will dragged in a long breath. “Cecily—” “Yes, you’ve said that already,” said Tessa. She heard the sharpness in her own voice, and softened it with an effort. It was unkind to speak so to someone so obviously distraught, even if he did insist on staring into space and muttering
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