Melusine circled her adversary only far enough to give herself the aisle between the pews behind. He wanted her named Mary. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. In vain Wood protested his innocence. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. He did not stagger in the least.
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