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’ ‘But I have still a dagger,’ Melusine warned. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious.

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