For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. ‘You do not think it is enough English. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. ” She covered her face with her hands. " "Waste not another word with him, Thames," cried Jack. " Mrs. ” He looked at her pleadingly. ’ ‘Pah!’ scoffed Melusine.
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