By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. "Perhaps that would have been best. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. ” She stared hard at her finger-nails. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. 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. It worked. ‘Ah, the tragedy.
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