“I don’t think I shall. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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