It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper.
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