Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. You don’t want to miss the sport. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. For awhile he watched the revolving light on Copeley's. I think not. Your life is like a funeral March.
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