He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. Only she hadn’t. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. They’re all wonderful cooks. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. ’ She drew a heavy breath. “I think,” he said, “that I am right.
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