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. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. He had to know the truth, Melusine. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. But to make an arrest to be like a revenge? No, a thousand times. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters.
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