As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence. After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. His literary instincts were reviving. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders and veiled head receding toward the altar. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour.
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