Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. It might as well be Melusine herself. That glove is still preserved. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Well, one must hope, that was all. just furtive meetings.
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