‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. But Enschede took them as they came, without question. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. He stood transfixed. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her.
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