Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. ’ A grimace crossed her face. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. ” And she pressed her lips together in white resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion for conflict and selfsacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the beginning of things.
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