‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. I can’t help you a cent. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. ‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song.
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