her nose.

    “ springs,” commented Mogget. “You  smell it after a er  your grandfat? Or great-great-aunt? Ah, memory . . .”

    t stood immobile ed to cut ter slopped over to to Mogget—o  and padded aious distance from ter sending. Just like a real cat, Sabriel t. Peroo, over turies. Ss. t, a plump marmalade feline, s.

    Sabriel t about t slept on t’s Room, and t t iquette class, and tress droning on about silver salvers . . .

    A s anotart, sending furtabs of pain tired muscles.

    ter sending apped t ient for Sabriel to have her wash.

    “ater’s getting cold,” explained Mogget, leaping up to they’ll be serving dinner in half an hour.”

    “tting up and reaco grab slippers and toory to sidling out of bed and into them.

    “t, butting ion of tepped back from t a bar of soap.

    Sabriel so to   before s, tepped forward, wowel off he whole basin over her head.

    Sabriel s, again before s back turned t er and tention to  ed to get soap in Sabriel’s eyes, or suspected an infestation of nits.

    “ are you doing!” Sabriel protested, as trangely cool  e  interest, at s and stomacop it! I’m quite old enougo washank you!”

    But Miss Prionte’s tecic servants didn’t seem to ic sendings. It kept scrubbing, occasionally tipping  er over Sabriel.

    “op it?” stered to Mogget, as still more er cascaded over arted to scrub lower regions.

    “You can’t,” replied Mogget, acle. “ticularly recalcitrant.”

    “ do you . . . oop t!  do y