He had abandoned his oars, and the boat was drifting with the stream towards the enemy. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Part 2 They had their explanations the next evening, but they were explanations in quite other terms than Ann Veronica had anticipated, quite other and much more startling and illuminating terms.
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