Melusine sighed with relief and set to work by the light of the lantern. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean.
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