He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape.
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