” Part 4 It was not Ann Veronica’s fault that the night’s work should have taken upon itself the forms of wild burlesque. ‘She would not tell me. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna.
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