I am called Melusine. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology and physiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more than three or four times a year, only then when they had to. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. I was orphaned a long time ago. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. "Five guineas. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you.
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