There was a hint of tears in her voice. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ” John greeted him. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. ‘Merci,’ Melusine said, and smiled. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
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