Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. The figure she had longed to see came into her line of vision, but at this crucial moment of hideous realisation, Melusine barely took it in, her eyes fixing blankly on the man behind. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. .
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