” He contradicted himself by plunging into an exposition of motifs. Melusine gave herself a little mental shake. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses.
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