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She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. “Come this way,” he said. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. ‘I can take care of myself, bête.
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