Emile Gosse must know his only chance was to be rid of Melusine. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. It has instead found you.
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