‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ repeated Captain Roding. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘I know you, Gerald. The man himself was not a pleasant object. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. His eyes swept down and Melusine felt the quiver at her lips where he gazed. He turned the water off and handed her a towel. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms.
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