Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. For Melusine was on him again, the point of her sword lunging so that he backed up onto the dais. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. ‘It is precisely that point over which Melusine and I fell out. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure.
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