“They are coming past our table. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. I want you to turn me. It was bare of any furnishings. ’ ‘Why should I?’ ‘Because I can’t live without you!’ ‘That is your own affair, and—’ Melusine broke off, staring at him, shocked realisation kicking in her gut. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again.
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