Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience.
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