"I'll need a job when I quit this bed. Go away,’ came fretfully from Prudence Sindlesham, and Melusine heaved a sigh as she looked towards the butler, who was making his stately way to the door. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety. “Go on!” she commanded. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes.
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