Wood started to his feet. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. Wood heard the cry. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. Everybody looked askance at everybody else. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. He stepped out but, rather to his surprise, found Melusine following him. The country was partitioned in a similar manner. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. ‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. ” “Why do you think so?” she asked.
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