Charcoal. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. ’ Gerald did not speak, but there was a look in his face that made Melusine glad she had at last had the courage to confide in him. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “Looks like old times here, I see. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird.
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