He would go there. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. It makes no difference. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages.
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