For that worthless father of yours—’ Melusine let go the hand only so that she might throw her own hands in the air. CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps.
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