‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. He sucked at her neck, biting her hard, leaving red marks that disappeared as soon as he made them. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major.
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