The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. ’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him.
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