He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Emile Gosse must know his only chance was to be rid of Melusine. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. She expanded that. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed.
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