’ Melusine shrugged. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. “Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets.
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