“Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. Suddenly he understood what had happened. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly.
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