. ’ ‘Don’t talk soft,’ begged Martha. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. “In Paris. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me.
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