The ragged edge. “I get that a lot. ’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered.
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