The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. " "Why not?" rejoined Mrs. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. ‘Why don’t you?’ Melusine frowned at him, grasping the dagger more firmly. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing.
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