And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. I do not blame you for the act. She had omitted that the flu had been called the Black Death and that it was a dead child that had been inside that womb, so many hundreds of years ago. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. A slow anger burned in the man. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. “Women are mocked,” she said. I hated him. “I am going to break a covenant,” he cried.
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