Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. These things were common knowledge among the bon ton, who were generously welcoming these unfortunate escapees.
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