Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice.
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