Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. “Look round the table,” she said. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. So, you see—’ ‘Do not say any more,’ Melusine uttered, flinging away and moving to the fireplace.
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