Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Stanley. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. ’ ‘Yes, that is what he said,’ agreed Melusine, pleased to find him of so ready an understanding. The knife is at my breast. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven.
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