“I did it for love of you,” he said. “I do not even know who you are. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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