She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. The evenings were dulcet and soft. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. “I MUST speak to you,” he said. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade. Now, it won't do a bit of good to warn Spurlock. That is not reasonable. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books.
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