The sing-song girl, seeing Ruth, extended her hands and began to chatter rapidly. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. The strong fingers of one hand secured both her wrists there, and Melusine found herself chest to chest with him as he threw off his hat, and began to pat at her petticoat, searching for tell-tale protrusions. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me.
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