’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. We must always move on. I worship you. You are wrong even about that man’s scientific position and his standard of work. “It was a phase,” she said. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. I HAD to.
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