“It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. The doctor said you wrote. Gather he found stuff belonging to the real Valade, and the vicomte, as well as your own letter. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. ’ Melusine gasped. She stood up and he sat down at the microscope, and for a time he was busy scrutinizing one section after another.
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