’ ‘Then why,’ demanded Melusine, ‘did you do it?’ Gerald closed his eyes. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Melusine whirled. “I wish you didn’t. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. It is just the aim I have had in view all the time.
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