‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. Why don’t you wait and see if you do truly love me, then I can believe you? Then I know I am worth waiting for. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. For the first time in her life she had heard music; the door to enchanted sounds had been flung wide. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired.
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