Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. She looked at her flattened belly.
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