They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. ‘What was Leonardo to you?’ Melusine was instantly on the defensive. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. "Where is he?" he cried.
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