Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. ‘Melusine!’ Distracted, Gosse blinked and his eyes flicked away from Melusine’s just as she flung the fullness of her gathered petticoats in the way of his blade. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing.
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