" "I liked that, too," she replied; "but it wasn't that I had in mind. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. Its parents have perished. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings. I need hardly say that your aunt joins with me very heartily in this request. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it.
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