“Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy.
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