’ Chapter Twelve In the elegantly appointed blue saloon, Melusine sat disconsolate, gazing out of the window at the dull sky. “You see, Vee,” said Mrs. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. They fight over money all of the time.
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