He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. Niente. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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