’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. You appear to be amongst those strong enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling directly—one cares.
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