’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. The trip took a full day. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. Ramage admitted the force of that.
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