That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. Frequently she would doze in her chair; but the slightest movement on the bed aroused her. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Certainly I never met him. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical.
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