"Tush!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. You women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Have we not received Lady Bicknacre just this morning? Not to mention the Comtesse de St Erme.
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