She recoiled. Besides, it was under false pretences. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park.
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