Then she called a hansom and drove home. ’ ‘Back?’ Melusine put a hand to her aching temple. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events.
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