Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. I was visiting the royal family, as they sought me for a tutor for their sons over the summer. ’ Melusine threw her hands in the air. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her.
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