Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. ’ ‘Truly?’ asked Melusine, warmth lighting her bosom. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. Contenting himself with brandishing the weapon in the Jew's eyes, he exerted all his force to prevent him from rising. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended.
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