’ ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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