’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. ” He shook her diminutive hand. So far the thing was acceptable enough. She felt much better. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. She gurgled. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. ‘That way.
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