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’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. . The light would betray us. When she came to herself, she found that her brother had quitted the room, leaving her to the care of a female attendant. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently.
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