It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Melusine shrieked an imprecation, and ran the length of the aisle, searching for the weapon she had thrown. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. That’s what I mean. A lesson learned. I’m a little tired.
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