’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. But ship that girl east as soon as you can. Ruth, without suspecting it, had fallen upon a fundamental truth: that each and every book fitted into the scheme of human moods and intelligence. Maggot. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. “So it seems that I was wrong. “I believe that you are right,” he said softly.
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