’ ‘You mean monsieur le baron, the General Charvill, my grandfather?’ Melusine laid aside on the table the letter she had been studying and turned so that the frame of her nun’s wimple no longer obscured her view. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. “I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell.
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