. ’ Roding looked struck. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. All this while he was arranging the medicines on the stand and jotting down his instructions on a chart sheet. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God.
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