One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. Melusine did not pause, but reached down to grasp the hilt of his sword and lift it. He whispered in her ear. Oh, to face facts! Gods! what a world it might be if people faced facts! Understanding! Understanding! There is no other salvation.
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