The knight, who could ill brook this familiarity, instantly arose. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. CHAPTER XXI. ’ Melusine frowned, placing her hand on the letter lying on the table. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
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