The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. \"God, it's too curly for a brush. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ Glancing swiftly towards the doorway, Gerald saw his friend’s disbelieving face and burst out, speaking over the top of Melusine as she made another grab for the little square of linen.
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