They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. Melusine’s heart ached for him, but she had to force him on. ’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. What does he do these three days?’ She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin.
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