‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room.
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