Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. ’ Melusine wrenched her wrists out of his hold and stepped back, digging into her skirts, which she had adequately prepared some days ago. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. I was rude and stupid.
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