Melusine was loath to admit how much more lonely since Gerald chose not to visit her. . Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. I think we will soon, though. Water I need. Life’s hard enough nowadays for an unprotected male. ” Her reverie broke, and she found herself still in front of the looking glass, a barrette hanging loosely from her hair. “Uh, I think I might, Shari.
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