She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. ” It took some days for this phase to pass, and it left some scars and something like a decision. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘Melusine!’ Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way of his blade.
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