Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. The Storm. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him.
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