She had nothing to say for herself. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. But they were too late. Men have seen to that. She was working very steadily at the Advanced Course in Comparative Anatomy, wonderfully relieved to have her mind engaged upon one methodically developing theme in the place of the discursive uncertainties of the previous two months, and doing her utmost to keep right in the back of her mind and out of sight the facts, firstly, that she had achieved this haven of satisfactory activity by incurring a debt to Ramage of forty pounds, and, secondly, that her present position was necessarily temporary and her outlook quite uncertain. Thank goodness you’ll understand. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway.
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