I can save you, and will. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. She simply refuses to see or hear from me again. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways.
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