They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. But also this must not go on. ‘Does Charvill know that this Melusine of yours is here?’ The question distracted Gerald. He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction.
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