" CHAPTER VI. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. ‘It is not your affair. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. ‘Idiot.
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