‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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