She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. Bird and have come hither. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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