’ Melusine remembered a thin man of sour aspect, living—like her father and his wife Suzanne—off the vicomte’s bounty. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. ‘Imbecile. His voice now had lost its ironies. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. I felt as though I had bandaged eyes. "Will that do?" he added, returning it.
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