This forthright dame was so excited, she could not keep still, but paced about the parlour much as Melusine had done earlier. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. The man was mad to marry me. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders.
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