She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again.
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