Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further.
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