. Certainly not a gentlewoman. Sebastian drank deeply and quickly of her blood. But Melusine was a little inclined to like this side of the major. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Her head ached with a hollow pain. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Parbleu, but she was a fool. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had.
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