The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. “I have come from a very unfashionable quarter,” she said, “and I do not think that I have been inside a milliner’s shop for a year. ” Ennison hesitated for a moment. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ’ ‘I am going to England,’ Melusine stated flatly, ‘because there is no safety at the convent at Blaye.
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