“Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. He has got five minutes' start of you. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way.
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