Melusine, intent on the luckless Kimble, did not care. He had not to wait long. "I have dreamed that I shall see him before I die," she rejoined. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Give me the chisel, Blueskin. The man was mad to marry me. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight. "And I want to thank you, too," supplemented Ruth. ” She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie.
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