It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. My father was Colonel Pellissier. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said.
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