Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. ‘This is the way you tell me that you love me? You English idiot, you!’ He seized her wrists to hold her off, actually daring to laugh, much to Melusine’s increased fury. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. You're luck. Taking her limbs was the only thing I could do short of killing her.
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