“Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. “It was perhaps my fault. He resented being regarded as irregular. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk.
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