So far the thing was acceptable enough. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. Wood started to his feet. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. I really must leave you now.
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