And the less “anything” happened the better. 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. She 191 picked up the remote, usurping it of its dividing status between their bodies. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. Miss Stanley hesitated, and took first one and then another of the constituents of this costume off its peg and surveyed it. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention.
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