“From a memory deep inside her, so faint it only held sounds and slips of color, a tiny, three-year-old Azalea wailed, "Papa.""Papa," said Azalea to the lifeless form of the King. The word was so forgein, it choked her throat. "Papa... you can't leave us, Papa... It would be very...out of order-"Bramble knelt opposite her, grasping the King's bandaged hand."She's-she's right, Papa," Bramble stuttered. "We have...rules..."Clover fell to her knees and pressed her handkerchief to his chest. Blood soaked through. "Papa," she whispered.The girls knelt around the King, their skirts spead out like forlorn blossoms, swallowing , and whispering one word."Papa.""Papa.""Papa.”

“The King smoothed the blanket on Thackeray's back. He opened his mouth, and shut it. Then he opened it again, and after a moment, said, "You used to call me Papa, do you remember that?"The question took Azalea back."No," she said.”

“I noticed Maman and Papa dancing. Papa looked like he'd rather be shot, but Maman was very happy.”

“Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.”

“What happens next?" she whispered.Connor turned to her and smiled faintly. Always a question, that was Rebecca.There's more?" he said in mock wondermentRebecca dimpled.You know very well there is more."Tell me all about it," he encouraged.In Papa's book—"Tell me all about it without mentioning your papa.”

“Oh Papa. I always felt like I had a hold on things when there was Papa to turn to.”