The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. It feels like it. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. ’ She moved to Melusine’s side as she spoke. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. And if this soi-disant Valade had already gone to Monsieur Charvill— ‘Very well,’ she said to Jack without turning round, ‘but now is Wednesday.
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