That would not help her. I’m a soldier, you see. It'll be turning over to-morrow. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. ‘Melusine. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as a duck to water?” “You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?” Ennison said stiffly. Paul's are his work.
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