"And now, farewell, Mr. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. ‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed. God knows how you did it. I don’t want to stop your singing. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp.
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