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. But at the word “home” she turned again. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. I don’t want you to be sad. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. ’ ‘That wasn’t my fault.
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