The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. She rang again with the same result. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. Brown broke the silence. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. Even if you didn’t know it. ‘But that will do for a start.
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