“And yet here we are,” I said as I finished recounting the meeting to Stoker. “A little more than a year later, preparing an exhibition to commemorate her death. Such a short time for her to know happiness!” His expression was thoughtful. “If she had had a Scottish nanny, she would have known that sort of happiness would never last.” “What on earth are you talking about?” I demanded. He shrugged. “It sounds as if that last night here, she was fey.” My expression must have betrayed my bemusement for he went on. “It is an old Scots word, it means a sort of hectic happiness that cannot last. It
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