” She had not seen or heard from a single one of them since. ” “God, Lucy, you’re always so serious! I was only joking!” She pulled her underwear on and fiddled with the legs of her tight jeans. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Melusine shrugged. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh.
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