The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. ‘What was Leonardo to you?’ Melusine was instantly on the defensive. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor.
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