Arrived at his habitation, Jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded to. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. “I’m thirsty.
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