She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. Melusine sighed with relief and set to work by the light of the lantern. It never is. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd.
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