And she was as shrewd as they come. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. ’ ‘But where then is Gosse?’ demanded Melusine. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless.
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