At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. ’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes. Here she seems to have developed into a brilliant woman with more character and steadfastness than I should ever have given her credit for.
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