Once Davidson left, Iris turned to the manuscript on Monsieur Firmin’s desk. It continued to push at her, and she held back to prepare her mind for whatever it might assault her with. She typically had to reach with her mind to penetrate the fog of thoughts around an object, not defend against the sensations. She tried to push away the memories of the first time an object had been so insistent. The poison holder that contained the last note her father wrote to her had called to her like that, but with more frightening insistence. She later came to find it was from the danger she was in.
No time to dwell on useless memories. I have to concentrate on what I’m doing now, not that I won’t be having Christmas in the house in Huntington Village with Father and Cook and Sophie, that traitor. All
