The doctor nodded to him curtly. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. She had never felt so cold, she felt even colder than she had in the water. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically.
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