‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. The horror of those few minutes was still with 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.
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