She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. After all—’ ‘Yes, but I do not wish to see him,’ Melusine protested. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her. “Listen! There was a Meysey Hill in Paris, an American railway millionaire. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. That was supposed to be Madame Valade.
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