‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. . . A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila. She looked at him gravely and squinted. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. Her head ached with a hollow pain. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. “You said you were in love with me,” said Ann Veronica; “I wanted to explain —” “I said I loved and wanted you.
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