I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. ’ ‘Melusine,’ shrieked the nun. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. I could never make you understand. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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