His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. I’ll have to make a visit out of town.
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