’ There was sense in what she said, Melusine was obliged to concede. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. “Before I heard much Wagnerian music I heard enthusiastic descriptions of it from a mistress I didn’t like at school. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. .
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