The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. "But, pardon my intrusion. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now.
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