Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. ‘And I am very glad you did this bad thing, because if not, who would take care of me?’ Martha shook her head, and Melusine spied wetness again in her eyes, although they met hers bravely. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. And yet—I love you.
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