” “Why did you keep her all of these years? What good can it do?” “She created me, Lucia. ” She grinned. ’ ‘But if I am with you, as André Valade, as your husband, an émigré—’ ‘Pah!’ Melusine spat. “I MUST speak to you,” he said. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them.
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