” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. ’ Melusine hit lightly at his chest. ” “We will go together,” she answered. But for me it doesn’t matter. ‘What started you off, you madman,’ Roding told him frankly, as he set about tying his handkerchief around the wound, ‘was being born at all. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it.
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