But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. ‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in.
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