And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea.
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