" "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. ’ ‘Melusine, sir,’ Gerald reminded the general, exchanging a frustrated glance with Mrs Sindlesham. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian.
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