"You want me, then?" she said. ‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. “But—” The long inconsecutive conversation by that time was getting on her nerves. She was quite unconcerned. She cried and sobbed in fits. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies.
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