And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. Melusine jumped up, turning swiftly. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better.
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