She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. The rest was easy. She examined Michelle’s pale face. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. ’ There was no denial in Martha’s face, though Melusine longed to hear her words contradicted. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek.
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