" "Quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laughing good-humouredly. ” “May I put you in a hansom?” he asked, lifting his stick. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. She found herself mildly entertained by staring at the houses through the rain as she walked home, all cast in a gray blurry film noir gauze of rain. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance.
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