‘This is the way you tell me that you love me? You English idiot, you!’ He seized her wrists to hold her off, actually daring to laugh, much to Melusine’s increased fury. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Moments are ages now.
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