He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. Shocked, Melusine shot out of that blanketing warmth of sensation. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. It has been proved.
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