He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. . ’ A multitude of changes flitted across Melusine’s features as she stood there for a space, unusually silent. It was after all a momentary affair. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. She’s taken my sword. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way. ” “I like the mystical way,” she said. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force.
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