He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Melusine saw fire in his eyes and a streak of heat rushed through her to match it. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha.
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