She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. " "But that style isn't Oriental. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. ‘Soi-disant? Then he is not Valade?’ ‘How can I know?’ she countered crossly.
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