And you tell me that the reason you are doing all this is so that you can marry an Englishman!’ Melusine giggled. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Yes, there was someone there. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. There is a small yewtree west of the church. She didn’t choose her man.
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