Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. Her elbows were ready. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. For that worthless father of yours—’ Melusine let go the hand only so that she might throw her own hands in the air. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. "I am very wicked," she said. I’ve never met any one like you.
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