All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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