He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. She spent many days in the castle alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. He had abandoned his oars, and the boat was drifting with the stream towards the enemy. Small wonder she had learned to be self-reliant. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed.
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