"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. But even you cannot alter her character. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her. You do not know him. I did not have to dig deep in my imagination to create the status-obsessed suburban environment of Lucy’s modern milieu.
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