"Very well. Good afternoon," Gwendolyn said. She took Fiona's hand and 
led her upstairs. Fiona dawdled in a way that was almost perfectly calculated 
to annoy, and responded to her mother's questions only with nods and shakes of 
the head, because, as always, her mind was elsewhere. Once they had reached 
their temporary quarters in the guest wing, Gwendolyn got Fiona settled into 
bed for a nap, then sat down at an escritoire to work her way through some 
pending correspondence. But now Mrs. Hackworth found that her own mind was 
elsewhere, as she pondered these three very strange girls—the three 
smartest little girls in Miss Matheson's Academy—each with her very 
strange relationship with her Primer. Her gaze drifted away from the sheets of 
mediatronic paper scattered about the escritoire, out the window, and across 
the moor, where a gentle shower had begun to fall. She devoted the better part 
of an hour to worrying about girls and Primers.