Melusine gritted her teeth. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. And Gerald— Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. I haven't touched the other.
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