’ Impatience overtook Melusine’s resolve momentarily. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. He saw it in book-covers, on the stage. ‘You can if you like. ‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. But there was a face pressed to the glass. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand.
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