It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. She pulled her hand away quickly. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine.
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