The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. He thought it best to let the matter drop. —Strype's Stow.
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