‘Does that mean,’ Sir Christopher, not budging and staring searchingly at John, asked, ‘that the poor boy is a descendant of Roger Williams, the Roger Williams you mentioned not long ago as having taken Hebrew lessons from Milton at Cambridge?’
‘I should think he must be. A direct descendant, I would say. But why do you say poor boy?’ John could not help himself from asking, for he was overwhelmed by the knowledge that he would honestly have preferred to have been that privileged boy (dead at thirteen) than himself (he, the pilferer of gold repeater watches; he the eschewer of his own past), alive and well at twenty-five.
‘Well, he did die at, what age was it?’ Sir Christopher asked.
‘Thirteen, um, I make it,’ John said softly. Attempting to pull himself together, he turned to Sir Chris
