‘Well, that depends. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof.
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