He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. “This ain’t no place for you. Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. ‘This is not love, Marthe. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life.
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