It would be very good to be Capes’ friend. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. She turned her head to each side. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She gloried in it: he needed her. She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. They walked past his old jungle gym set to a hilly park that dwelled sleepily beyond his house. It was impossible to meet the motion bodily. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions.
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