Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. “He’s got good taste, you know.
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