“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. ’ Melusine glared. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. I got myself locked up to cool off. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note.
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