When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. Relief flooded her. Gray and tranquil world! Amazing, passionless world! A world in which days without meaning, days in which “we don’t want things to happen” followed days without meaning—until the last thing happened, the ultimate, unavoidable, coarse, “disagreeable. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. His expression altered. Man's fate is in his own hands. Good riddance. ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face.
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