“You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. . “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. . . “It was best for me to know. I’ve got a streak of male. Wild, he asserted, had robbed him of a large sum of money, and till it was restored he would never plead. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. ‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine.
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