She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. He thanked God for this talent of his. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. ’ ‘But why?’ asked Melusine, astonished, and somewhat overwhelmed by the other girl’s volubility.
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