‘Melusine…Melusine. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. "I know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. I loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said.
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