Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Not wisely but too well. She tucked her stick under her arm and re-read Manning’s letter. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. ’ Gosse’s eyes went to the portrait, and evidently took in the uncanny resemblance, looking from it to Melusine and back again. "There's a guinea to drink our health," she added, slipping a piece of money into his hand. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. He could lose himself for hours at a time. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. ‘All right, Trodger.
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