He pressed the long shapely hand warmly in his. ‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. Such an obvious ruse, but the boys and girls would defend their pride to the bitter end, the facade of study groups during rutting season. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come.
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