A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. This isn’t the place. ’ ‘Hélas, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. Instead, God had sent her Sebastianus, a man who had sold his soul to the Devil to gain eternal life, or perhaps he was even the Devil himself.
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