She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. She had seen a man’s head steal out for a moment and draw the curtains a little closer. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. Everywhere there are limitations. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. I want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. ‘I only wish I might have won her confidence.
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