“Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked. . ’ ‘Parbleu,’ burst from Melusine indignantly. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She wanted air—and the distraction of having moving and changing things about her. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells.
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