A woman has a perfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a little mysterious about your treatment of him. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. I had left Paris.
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