'" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay. It was 1582. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. ‘But she will not shoot you,’ Melusine told him flatly. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00.
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