You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. "But if it is your mother, send her about her business. ’ ‘Hélas, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically. ’ Still no response. Wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. CHAPTER XXI.
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