‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. But it's best to be on the safe side. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck.
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