‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. Kicked out of there for something shady. Hill, Meysey Hill. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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