’ ‘Eh bien, you are not a saint,’ Melusine snapped. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. What a frightened fool he was! If he could not remember her name, it was equally possible that already she had forgotten his. But you must see her alone; and that'll be no easy matter to manage, for she's a great invalid, and has generally somebody with her.
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