A girl—at my age—is grown-up. There was just a minute’s hesitation before they gave her a room. “I do,” Anna answered. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off.
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