Although Melusine had taken care to trouble herself about the hand she had cut, and was glad to find it healing very well. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions.
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