’ ‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. She did not resist him, she could not. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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