” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. They don’t now. Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere.
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