How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. Brendon felt his arm seized. ‘For kissing you, or for not meaning to do so?’ ‘Imbecile,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. Don’t try. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
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