He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. They walked past his old jungle gym set to a hilly park that dwelled sleepily beyond his house. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. In the early hours of the morning, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Melusine had ventured to explore the mansion, the lantern she had brought in hand, commenting to herself all the time on the state of the place and the difficulties of her task, and having no idea of the consequences she was bringing on herself thereby. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present.
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