’ ‘You didn’t care. ’ Melusine sat slowly down again, looking him over thoughtfully. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable.
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