He heard the woman talking again. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. Pitt, pointing to the prisoner. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress.
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