It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. ’ Chapter Nine As she devoured the simple meal of bread and cheese, and several slices of cold roast beef, the whole washed down with a poor sort of coffee, Melusine listened with avid interest to the details of her mother’s life as revealed by the exclamatory conversation of Joan Ibstock. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament.
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