He got up. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare.
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