Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. I knew him in spite of his dress. I believe it amused him. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. It is Thérèse. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Melusine did not try to fight her captor, for that would only make him angry. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. They were only passers-by.
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