“I don’t know much about the technique of music,” he said at last, with his eyes upon her. This also struck her as odd. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. Gerald’s chest tightened. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. ‘A devil is just what you are.
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