He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. She cursed herself for a fool. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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