A short laugh escaped Thatcher, pulling all the blue eyes his way. “I’m sorry. You’ve made him sound like a sensation novel.” “The case of the missing hand!” Polly cried. “I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean,” said Aurelia. “He means detective stories!” Polly clarified, unfortunately. “Don’t worry, Mother. Polly is not reading Wilkie Collins or Edgar Poe,” Rose promised, widening her eyes at Thatcher.
