It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. It is no crime, none at all. ’ ‘It is you who is absurd,’ countered Melusine, the spark returning to her eye. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. I've opened the case of books. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Come home alone.
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