E. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. “She told you that?” “Yes. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute.
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