’ ‘He does not call himself my father, for he calls himself nothing at all,’ Melusine told him, her tone violent with fury. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air.
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