As in a dream, Melusine saw her faithful footman struck, his headlong progress checked. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. I was rude and stupid. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated.
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