The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. "You will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. You must have repented a little, or you would not have done that. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child.
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