He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. ‘But you cannot expect that we will any of us remain altogether quiet,’ objected Melusine. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory.
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