I know you. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart.
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