But we waste time. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard. Perhaps it was loneliness. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. Pull over there. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. ’ Melusine turned, an irrepressible giggle escaping her lips as she thought of the Mother Abbess in the convent at Blaye.
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