Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. The gulf between rich and poor was perhaps greater in France, but by all accounts it was not the canaille who were responsible for the present turmoil. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt.
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