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’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. It had seemed to her that life might be very good indeed with his kindliness and sacrifice about her. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. She waited expectantly. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. . His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness.
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