The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted. She found Rhea trapped under a rock, her skeletal head exposed. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere.
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