“But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. " Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ’ ‘But if I am with you, as André Valade, as your husband, an émigré—’ ‘Pah!’ Melusine spat. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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