Never sent for the shirt. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. But no; she must step warily. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock.
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