‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. He had taken it back. He’s been near it once or twice already. ‘I suppose this is the cavalier you had with you when you—er—attended the ball the other night?’ ‘Jacques is very useful to me,’ Melusine confirmed, bestowing that same radiant smile on the young man, whose features were instantly suffused with scarlet. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. The Storm.
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