She entered the kitchen. Melusine whirled. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. Voilà tout. He filled her glass with champagne. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill. Eight per cent. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. ’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said.
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