Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. No doubt there’s some little mistake. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. ‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write.
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