’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. ‘Idiot. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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