"Good-bye, Mac. Am I so forgettable?” He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of gray blue. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. For she needed him. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. ’ ‘But you are excessively clever, Jacques,’ cried Melusine, relief flooding her.
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