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You’re a lady. ‘You have made a serious mistake, Melusine. shouldn’t be friends. “How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. ‘And me, I am a lady.
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