‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. Deep silences came between them. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready.
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