“I know there have been others,” Caroline continues, following Agnes’s gaze and nodding at the woman in a manner that appears to reproach her, “people who have approached you or otherwise lost their grip. I can only apologize for this. If I had to blame it on anything”—here, a woman sings through the air in Agnes’s memory, mounts the embankment, and then streaks downward to splinter across the jetty—“I could only put it down to excitement. Anticipation, maybe. Everyone has been so very keen to meet you. That’s no excuse, of course.” Her voice is uncannily reasonable. “We’ve always been here,
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