‘I don’t think you need do that, Melusine—if I may call you so. Gerald lifted an eyebrow. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. I don’t want to bother you, of course. And we are not traders looking at equivalents. She heard him come in; the light burned on.
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