’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Sindlesham loudly, casting an anxious glance upon Melusine. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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