“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. His grip twisted her wrist. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. “I had lunch very late to-day, and I did not get home in time for dinner. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy.
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