She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. He bore it as long as he could, watching all the time with fascinated eyes Annabel moving gracefully about amongst her guests, always gay, with a smile and a whisper for nearly everybody. After the sights he would have to twiddle his thumbs until the joints cracked. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him.
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