Melusine cast one swift glance at it, and her eyes, flashing magnificently, came back to his face. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. But he wrote on. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged.
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