Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. Perhaps she was. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. They were bathing in the stream. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended.
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