Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds. She had no intention of fighting fair. ‘Jacques, are you dead? Jacques, do you hear me?’ Melusine put her cheek to his lips, and felt the faint warmth of his breath. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains.
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