167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Recovering herself, Melusine tucked the weapons out of sight, down into the deep holsters hidden under the petticoat of her riding habit, and went back into the house where Martha awaited her in some impatience. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. He hated horizons. ‘It is not possible. ‘She knows what she’s up against. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. You are the High Priestess of Life. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. He guided himself between her legs.
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