’ Melusine giggled. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing.
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