She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. They fell in a diapason of smashes. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do.
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