" "I've been wondering, too. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. You simply can’t. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry.
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