It was true. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. He could not kiss Ruth. “I am a fool,” he said. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone. “My dear sweet Lucia. ’ Melusine spread her hands and sighed.
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