’ ‘Certainly he is not a friend,’ Melusine agreed, ‘but he has gone, after all. "He just asked for his coat, which he wanted under his pillow. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. ‘I can answer that. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities.
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