’ The dimple that so fascinated Melusine peeped in her great-aunt’s cheek. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Melusine came back to the present to discover that tears were rolling down her cheeks. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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