I’m sorry. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. ’ The shift threw Melusine’s attention off the errant major for the moment. “We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. “Bohemianism is the least understood word ever coined.
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