Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. It was years before your time.
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