’ Melusine rose from her chair in sudden irritation. She prevaricated. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. “No I’m not, John. You forget that every one is going to the ‘Unusual’ to see her. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her.
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