Kate Morton

The little girl laughed again; the boat was gliding through the water like a giant whale, like Moby-Dick in the story her father often read to her. Mamma didn't like it when he read such stories. She said they were too frightening and would put ideas in her head that couldn't be got out. Papa always gave Mamma a kiss on the forehead when she said that sort of thing, told her she was right and that he'd be more careful in future. But he still told the little girl stories of the great whale. And others - the ones that were the little girl's favourite, from the fairy-tale book, about eyeless crones, and orphaned maidens, and long journeys across the sea. He just made sure that Mamma didn't know, that it remained their secret.