"His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. "No!" she cried. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Schoolgirl.
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