She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. Even if he were an old friend, you couldn't afford to do it. That was something in his favour.
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