‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. “Please forgive me, Lucy. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true.
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