It’s a mismatch. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. ’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing. ’ Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright.
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