“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant.
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