Anna, my love, you cannot have forgotten so soon. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. “Both!” said Ann Veronica. I wanted it badly. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little.
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