‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in.
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