” Mike parroted in a
nasal tone. What was the name on those
marriage lines you showed me?’
‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering
shock. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and
addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near
Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously,
exercised a powerful effect upon him. Their faces were masks of abject horror,
sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. The room was papered with green, large-patterned
paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other
chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz,
which also supplied the window-curtain. Of
course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about. Very well.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 25-06-2024 17:39:50