But who could do that for me? Only Harvey–that paunchy, pervy wanker. He is my one potential saviour and the thought of that just empties me out. Has he unearthed the secret of my dreams? No. Has he discovered in me the Executioner’s Girl, the key to it all? All he talks of are characters I do not recognise: jailed orphans and James Frobisher, all nonsense to me. So let me dream tonight. Let me dream of James Frobisher so that I can hang to the thread of hope that Harvey is making real progress and not just stringing me along, because if he cannot help me, then I am finished.
I did dream that night, but not of James Frobisher. This dream was vivid but confusing, one that I may have had once before, many years ago, but I cannot remember for sure. If it has come once before then I probably
