“Damned Rascal!” he said. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil.
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