“Well,” she said, “good-night, father. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. But she did not speak. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. ‘I know, Melusine. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door.
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