She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. . ’ Melusine sobered, sitting down again. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. . Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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