“Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. “No. . ’ ‘Yes, I know,’ Gerald put in with an irrepresssible chuckle. ” Anna shook her head. ‘Not here. At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. She kept her eyes closed. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. ’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
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