A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. The letter will explain all. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Drink for him had a queer phase.
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