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’ ‘He had no further need of them,’ Gosse said and his laugh sounded heartless to Melusine. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. Their flitting hands were always touching. But Ann Veronica had still to get to her chief topic. Still, they bob up occasionally.
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