Melusine feigned a displeased frown. Still, one never could tell. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. You are infatuated. get in. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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