Part 7 That was two days before Christmas Eve. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. ’ Melusine sobered, sitting down again. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. "Where are you going?" she asked. She dumped him because she claimed she didn’t want him to go any farther. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican.
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