It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. She took his hand in hers. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. ‘Here were you patiently waiting, without uttering one word of complaint the entire time, which of course you never do, being yourself a female altogether of a disposition extremely sweet and charming without the least vestige of a temper—’ ‘Gérard,’ Melusine uttered on a warning note, desperately trying to control the quiver at her lip. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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