It might as well be Melusine herself. “Eight, Cavendish Square. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. . “I hope that it has not done any harm. ” Mr. B. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child.
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