Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. ‘Well, we’ll just go on up and have a look at this here passage, missie, shall we?’ ‘Have I not been saying so?’ snapped Melusine, exasperated. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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