Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. " Spurlock grew limp in his chair. Melusine did not attempt to speak. Mr. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away.
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