’ Melusine jumped up, full of new hope, all the earlier clouds vanishing from her horizon. It was if the world had blinked out for a moment. . Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best.
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