The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. "Dying, Sir Rowland. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. " "And partly what else?" "I shall never tell anybody that.
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