Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. .
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