Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. "However, I will be there. He had died before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest daughter. .
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