“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. E below. The man was my husband. If only we work together. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered.
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