‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. I can’t stand it. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you.
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