‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled. It was the beginning of June. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. A brief description will suffice for them. She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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