I don’t care what divides us. ’ ‘This is not a new thing,’ Melusine snapped, goaded. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly.
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