’ Melusine found her tongue. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. “Well, no,” she answered. I’ve been wondering where she got her dogged will, and that hot-headed adventurous spirit, for it wasn’t from either Mary or Nicholas, that’s sure. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile.
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