The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. ‘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. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No.
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