All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. Greece was a different place. Pah! Damned Frenchified—’ ‘If you say again,’ threatened Melusine, moving to meet him like a jungle cat poised for the kill, ‘this scorn of a thing French, monsieur le baron, I shall be compelled to give you this apoplexy of which she speaks, madame. “I believe that you are quite safe. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever.
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