A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. Such pretty manners, she thought. She had been working upon a ribbon of microtome sections of the developing salamander, and he came to see what she had made of them. ‘Can’t you see he is not a gentleman with whom one can argue?’ ‘You think so?’ Melusine said dangerously, and her eyes flashed as she swept about again and confronted her grandfather once more. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. ’ ‘Yes, but I need a word with Gerald,’ protested the captain, hanging back.
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