Sheppard. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision.
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