She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Melusine recognised the burly form of Captain Roding’s sergeant. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. ” “Perhaps not,” she answered. She continued to fan herself. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death.
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