But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. He knocked on the doorframe. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. I don’t know. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. ” “It is within yours—if anybody’s,” he answered.
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