“His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. What other reason could there be? It’s more complex, but it’s better. ’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. She recoiled. Then he entered her passionately, riding her with exquisite precision. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. "Heaven be praised she knows me at last. " So saying, she planted herself between Jack and the turnkey. Nasty, damp passages. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later.
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