The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. She could not say who, not yet. She had no place she loved. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. To his intense satisfaction, Melusine bit her lip on a tremor. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. And now you are acting the cuckold, because I do not wish to waste my seed in your barren womb?\" She was too devastated to answer him.
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