Across the blackboard the colored chalks flew like flights of variously tinted rockets as diagram after diagram flickered into being. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. Melusine’s eyes shifted. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. I don’t know if I express myself clearly.
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