His eyes swept the company, and fell upon Melusine with a glare. His first reaction had been explosive as the hurts of the past rose up to taunt him. It was the gallows. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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