Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. Melusine sighed with frustration. Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. It disgusts me that you should touch me.
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