There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of.
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