If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort. But I do not even care if I am absurd. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. ‘Now then, missie, where do you think you’re going?’ ‘I must see Jacques only for one little minute,’ Melusine told him prettily, fluttering her lashes. I had no idea she could go so fast. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God.
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