Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. “Your mother was a Gypsy. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. You have been burning paper, I see. ’ To her astonishment, Gosse’s servile attitude vanished abruptly. ’ A reluctant laugh escaped him. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin.
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