" "Mercy!" cried Mrs. . ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘You will please to tell this—this idiot to release me. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard.
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