“I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. He seemed to do ten things before she could think to do one, to leap upon her and take possession. Melusine, used to the stark surroundings of the convent at Blaye, had no complaint to make. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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