Daizell’s friends at school had been as loud and boisterous as himself and he hadn’t troubled to acquaint himself with younger pupils. He might have thought the name would ring a bell, though, unusual as it was. Vernon Cassian . . . no, he could not for the life of him remember any such boy. He did, now he thought about it, have a vague memory of some undersized shrimp with a pale face whom he was meant to have noted for some reason or other. It tugged at his mind a moment, then he lost the thread.
