“Ass!” he went on, still warming. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety. Well, you shall know. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination.
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