John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. “Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents. Melusine seized her chance.
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