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. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. When she came in after dinner that night, Ruth was no longer an interesting phenomenon, something figuratively to tear apart and investigate: she was talismanic. Good night. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. Her mother had prepared her for everything.
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