Leaving the panel wide, Melusine dashed to the library door and flung it open, racing into the hall. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded.
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