The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. “I changed my last shilling yesterday. "Will you plead?" demanded Wild, harshly. He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. The first peg was torture.
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