They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. This girl whom he had met by chance and befriended had done both. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. . Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being.
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