Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. He hated horizons. Here she seems to have developed into a brilliant woman with more character and steadfastness than I should ever have given her credit for. It is she that I must see. She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. ’ A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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