‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn.
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