‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. “Child!” he cried. I have suffered him to be brought up decently—honestly; because I would make his fall the greater, and deepen the wound I meant to inflict upon his mother. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. I don't care how lonesome it is.
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