Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there. ’ ‘You ain’t never,’ gasped Pottiswick. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked.
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