It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. In his condition the boy apparently had been as safe as in the lock-up. The commissionaire smiled. ’ Melusine had to bite her lip to stop herself from interfering as, under Trodger’s direction, the two militiamen gave up their muskets into his keeping and lifted Jack. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. . ’ ‘No, for that would have had to be in Melusine’s possession to start with.
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