She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. It was some time later, after a series of these devastating assaults, that Melusine found herself seated on the sofa lately vacated by Lucilla and Captain Roding, cuddled firmly in the arms of a major of militia reduced quite to idiocy. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper.
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