At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear. ” “I met you accidentally,” he reminded her.
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