F. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. She was shaking violently when she entered the side door of the house. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. He was waiting in the outer hall as she tiptoed in. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household.
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