‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. Horrible details recurred to her. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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