‘Do you think I am afraid of a sword in the hand of a slip of a girl?’ For answer, Melusine lunged at him. She opened and read it at once. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother.
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