“Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. She required no instructions from books; her wit and beauty were her own. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault.
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