It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. ’ ‘Ah, no?’ She saw his guard relax and lunged again. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. Her confession was still unmade. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. . You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight.
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