Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. “I can’t. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. ’ A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. He had more time for her. ‘But so also it is downstairs.
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