Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. “You will go and see her,” he begged. Soon I shall make my début, that it will be known that I am the real Melusine Charvill, and then I shall not require the services any longer of this imbecile of a Gérard. Love is one thing and friendship quite another.
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