Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. Balked, Melusine halted. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. He was a shy boy outwardly but she knew him better in his thoughts, in which perhaps she had already taken upon the role of lover. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head.
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