She moaned as he buried himself completely to the hilt. “Dear me, what a relief! If I had had any nerves that man would have trampled upon them long ago. He would take with him that traitress Yolande, and claim to the lawyer that this was Melusine Charvill. She decided to go out into the London afternoon again and get something to eat in an Aerated Bread shop or some such place, and perhaps find a cheap room for herself. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Why do you look so sad?” She opened her eyes wider and stifled her emotions.
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