Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. . "Do you hear that! We are not wholly at fault. He followed. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. ” Lucy said. ” She said. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. And so your Melusine is busy trying to prove that she is the real one. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom.
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