I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting.
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