He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Capes most trying. With the immediate necessities in train, Melusine fell to brooding on her situation, which she found insupportable. F.
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