“Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. I am entirely English, as you know well. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. Wild's figure. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. He would go there.
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