’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. That was the true marvel of it. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. I only know that it is right to do what I do.
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