It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. You might even tire of me by then, you know. It was true. He seemed too noisy. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. Even were she to get an opportunity to scream, it would be some time before such a call, unprecedented though it might be, brought the nuns so much out of their absorption that they interrupted their prayer to investigate. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. Rebellious and resentful, Melusine decided there and then that she would do exactly that, come what may.
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