She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. “He seems like such a nice boy. I’ll pay it. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him.
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