Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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