" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. She ought to have leapt back on guard. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. They were sharp and dripping with black blood. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience.
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