"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. He had made it even easier by walking up the steps instead of taking the elevator. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. “But I have forbidden it!” he said, raising his voice. ‘Why did he make me French, Marthe? Why did he give me this name of Melusine, and say I am born of Suzanne Valade?’ Martha looked at her, but her lips remained firmly closed.
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