His eyes on Melusine, he uncocked the pistol, and then reached out to the portrait, grasping it by one edge. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths.
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