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’ Grasping the lantern, and heedless now of the discomforts of the passage, Melusine flew like the wind back towards the library, the vision of Jack Kimble’s white face driving her on. White, my landlady, believes his story. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt.

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