AS IT TURNED OUT, SHE had been hungry—enough to eat both chicken breasts Jeremiah had prepared for her and part of a third before he refilled her wine glass and she settled in for what promised to be an interesting conversation. He had changed into comfortable clothing and fetched her some silky, pajama-like garments belonging to Jasper (who was much smaller than Jeremiah, in part because of his build and in part because of his age), and now they sat about the round table in the tiny kitchen as though there’d never been a war between the Witch Doctors and the witches, between men and women, between man and wife and brother and sister.
As for Jasper, he had proven to be an erudite and charming host in spite of his great age, and had regaled her with tales from before the Pogrom and before
