She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. ‘Well, we’ll just go on up and have a look at this here passage, missie, shall we?’ ‘Have I not been saying so?’ snapped Melusine, exasperated. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. ” It was settled. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men.
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