‘Ah, yes,’ Gerald said, jumping down from the coach and waiting for the fellow to let down the steps for Melusine, ‘I had forgotten about you. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled. Annabel entered. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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