’ She turned and swept away from him, pacing the length of the room to the window Gerald had unshuttered. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. ’ ‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out. So that way is closed. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted.
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