His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. “It’s his birthday.
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