She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. Giles! "Devil seize the woman!" growled the singer, as he brought his ditty to a close; "will nothing tempt her out? Widow Sheppard, I say," he added, rising, "don't be afraid. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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