‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. Melusine dashed them away, but they kept on coming. Brendon. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris. I AM an abandoned female.
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