Can't I make you see?" "But I'm telling you Ruth loves you. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. He stood away from her. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. ‘You’ll come with us and get yourself safe back home to your convent, understand?’ ‘But wait,’ begged Melusine, hanging back. Your first treatment of a subject is always correct, always suggestive.
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