For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. “I don’t know where to go to. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate.
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