He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. . I had a hunch. ’ Melusine’s eyes flashed. Meysey Hill—never your wife.
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