Emile Gosse must know his only chance was to be rid of Melusine. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. If the boy did not love the girl, why the devil had he dragged her into this marriage? Spurlock was a bit shaky bodily, but his brain was functioning clearly; and, it might be added, swiftly—as the brain always acts when confronted by a perplexing riddle. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped.
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