“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. A riding-habit is all I have seen. I cannot protect you. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. ’ She set down her glass with a snap. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it.
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