‘But that is excessively unkind of you, Melusine. " She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees.
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