That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. ’ ‘Ah, you know about that, then?’ ‘That much, yes. ’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes. He got off on it. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. I didn't understand then, but I do now.
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