‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. No; she'd never go back. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. No one. The clever hostess having let fall that several distinguished guests from France would be present, the world had flocked to her doors to catch, like the gossip-hungry vultures they were, a glimpse of them. For me that is all over and done with. That window there…. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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