It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. “Why should it matter?” he said. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. ‘And so?’ she asked. His light brown hair was almost crew cut short.
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