His brain reeled. “Oh. Loneliness. “She’s been up to no good, Sheila. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. He was like a man beside himself. ‘And you!’ shrieked Melusine. "You are not.
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