She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen.
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