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Clutching their pieces of coal, they knocked on Mr. Neville’s door. It was whisked open. Hector stepped carefully, left foot first, over the threshold. A genial hubbub greeted them. The lonely widower was not alone. Holding on to the wall with one hand, he came to greet them, lurching and weaving but none the less dignified. Hector set his coal carefully on the fire and joined the throng around the table. Francis followed him. Janet stood still, overwhelmed with shyness. She did not know what to do. The moon spread a dazzle of silver on the sea; she wanted to go to the window and watch it but she dared not move. She was still holding her piece of coal; she could not put it on the fire. Someone thrust a glass of whisky into her hand and before she could say “No, thank you” moved on. The little room was very hot and full of noisy people. Slowly and carefully, trying to make no sound, she put down her glass and her coal and took off her heavy coat. Then she picked up the coal again, and the glass also, so as not to seem rude or ungrateful. She prayed to the moon that someone might come and talk to her, release her from this tranced immobility. The moon gave her a leery look and sidled behind a cloud. A moment or two later it relented and reappeared; but Janet thought its expression malign. Perhaps she was mistaken, for here was a man standing at her elbow with every sign of convivial goodwill. “I know you,” he was saying. “I met you long ago, when your family lived at the manse. You were just a wee thing then; you won’t remember. Your grandfather was always very good to me.” He gulped his whisky. Janet smiled encouragingly; she was still speechless, but she was beginning to feel less estranged. “Aye,” he said, “a long time past. And now you’re grown up.” He stared at her from unfocused eyes. “Indeed so. Quite the young lady.” Suddenly he was pinching her left bosom with a hand which had no fingers, only a row of wizened purple stumps. As suddenly, his hand dropped, he turned on his heel and walked away. Janet stood there. Again, she did not know what to do. Nothing she had read, nothing she had been taught, nothing in her life had prepared her for this. If she kept very still perhaps it would turn out that it had not happened; or perhaps she would cease to exist. She stood motionless, but her offending bosom rose and fell. She must not breathe. She held her breath. Now she was truly motionless. She fainted.

March was mild that year, and the snow melted earlier than anyone could remember. The gentlest of winds stirred the wild cherry blossom against a soft blue sky. Daffodils and snowdrops bloomed together. Janet’s jackdaw was behaving strangely. He would climb into her pocket and peer up at her, twisting his head in a beckoning manner, his eye bright with meaning. She became worried and searched for a jackdaw book. In Konrad Lorenz’s wonderful King Solomon’s Ring she found the explanation. He wished to lure her into her pocket, and there they would build a nest together. He had chosen her as his mate, his true and everlasting love, for jackdaws are monogamous. How strange that the creature who offered her all this should be a bird. How strange for him that she should be a human. What a merry little joke for the gods. She felt honoured and glorified, but she was glad when summer began and the nesting season was over. One day as Claws paced along the roof of 8, Belitha Villas, he spoke. “Never mind,” he said. Janet was overjoyed; but surely he meant to say “Nevermore.” “Nevermore, Claws,” she said. “Nevermore.” “Never mind,” he repeated, and this time he sounded like Francis.

“I thought it was a more useful expression,” said Francis. “But I’ve been teaching him to say ‘Nevermore’ for almost a year.” “Well, I’ve been teaching him to say ‘Never mind’ for about three weeks. I think we may draw certain conclusions about our respective teaching methods. I also think that Poe’s poem would have been a lot more fun if the Raven said ‘Never mind’ and I shall be emending any copies which come my way.” Janet glanced anxiously at her guano-encrusted bookcase. “Don’t worry. I’ve sorted yours out already.”