Brendon felt his arm seized. He was dressed immaculately in a suit of heavy Shantung silk. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. ‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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