It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. "So much the better," rejoined Sir Rowland. She began to read, and presently she entered another world, and remained in it for two hours.
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