“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. ‘Bête. His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. She loved to be told to do things. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ’ He nodded in the direction of her pistol. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. “It’s precious unromantic. . ” Lucy grew hot.
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