’ ‘Oh, peste,’ exclaimed Melusine crossly. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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