’ Melusine had crossed to the window that overlooked the front of the house, and was trying to peep through a crack in the shutters. \"Josh Durkin?\" Lucy whispered loudly. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. She was rash and ignorant, absolutely inexperienced. He filled his pipe slowly. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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