Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Melusine grasped the hilt of the sword she had been carefully holding, and came out into the light. The idea of your being a failure would never have occurred to me. Her father was right: Ruth must never know. ” She demanded. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill.
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