‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. . Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. ‘Idiot. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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