” He thought. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. His attention was focused on Melusine’s transfixed stare and he forgot to say any of the things he had planned to say. " "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. .
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