A slow heavy thumping started up in Melusine’s chest, and she scarcely took in the astonished silence in those present in the room. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. "Dying, Sir Rowland.
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